


Body in the Duck Pond

by lubilu17



Series: I got Sunshine up on the Shelf [2]
Category: Natasha Pierre and the Great Comet of 1812 - Malloy
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi, Murder, Murder Mystery, also I don’t really know what to tag, but never mind, probably very out of charater, rating is probably gonna change in the future, so I’m gonna do it as I go along
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-29
Updated: 2017-11-22
Packaged: 2019-01-26 09:38:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12554576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lubilu17/pseuds/lubilu17
Summary: Sonya is good. Sonya is good, that’s what everybody tells her. If she had to describe herself in one word that’s the word she’d use. Good. At least that’s what she tells herself as she throws another shot back. She downs the drink and tries to ignore the shouts of the other patrons of the bar behind her, the vodka burns her throat but she embraces it and tells herself that she’s not a bad person. For the first time in years Sonya’s drinking to forget. For the first time in years Sonya’s drinking by herself. For the first time in years Sonya doesn’t care how much money she spends, only that the alcohol she buys helps her forget.Andrey isn’t here. No one can find him. Why can no one find him?





	1. Chapter 1

Sonya is good. Sonya is good, that’s what everybody tells her. If she had to describe herself in one word that’s the word she’d use. Good. At least that’s what she tells herself as she throws another shot back. She downs the drink and tries to ignore the shouts of the other patrons of the bar behind her, the vodka burns her throat but she embraces it and tells herself that she’s not a bad person. For the first time in years Sonya’s drinking to forget. For the first time in years Sonya’s drinking by herself. For the first time in years Sonya doesn’t care how much money she spends, only that the alcohol she buys helps her forget.

She’s a good person, that’s what she reminds herself as she flags down the bartender again and orders another shot. She’s not doing a bad thing, just trying to forget everything that’s happened recently. Everything that’s happened with Mary. Then on top of all of that there’s everything that went down with Marya, Hélène and Pierre. It’s all too much and Sonya just wants to drink and forget it all.

The bar is crowded. Crowded enough that Sonya can begin to imagine that she’s not alone on her stool, but with her family. She can begin to imagine Natasha and Andrey curled up against each other in the booth, quietly muttering to each other. She can almost see Mary next to her, not drinking any alcohol but with a Diet Coke in her hand, Sonya herself would have joined her in not drinking, probably drinking a virgin mojito or something similar. She can almost feel Pierre next to her, his hands cradling a glass of whiskey, arm over Hélène’s shoulders if this fantasy was months ago. If it was recently, she’d be able to see Hélène and Marya pressed together trading kisses between sips of rum and coke. But they’re not here. Why would they be here? Why would any of them be here?

Neon lights cast shadows on the other patrons, make the woman next to Sonya at the bar look ethereal and otherworldly. For a second she wants to take her to a shadowed corridor or a dark back room, and press kisses to her scarlet lips, tangle her hands in her curls, make her come undone under her fingers and mouth. But a small part of Sonya’s brain reminds her of Mary, reminds her to be faithful to a person she’s not even dating anymore. The image of Mary's disapproving gaze drives her to down another drink. They’re not even together anymore so why should Sonya worry about remaining faithful?

Her phone, face up on the bar, lights up again with another text from Natasha. Sonya can’t deal with that at the moment. Can’t deal with Natasha and her happiness from her engagement to Andrey. Can’t deal with her pity filled gaze. She supposes that she could talk to Marya about all of this, or even Hélène, both known for their frankness. But it’s late and knowing them they’ll already be wrapped up in each other, unaware of the world around them. Sonya just can’t deal with any of that tonight. All she wants to do is drink and forget everything.

It’s after another two drinks when a hand is placed on her shoulder. Involuntary, her hand flinches, knocking over the shot glass. She can’t bring herself to put that glass upright, so it surprises her when the mystery hand moves her phone out of the way of the spreading liquid. It’s only after this when she actually turns to look at the person that the hand belongs to.

“Sonya, you should come home. Natasha’s worried about you.”

It’s Andrey. Of course it Andrey. Andrey with his perfect relationship. Andrey whose spent the past few day with his sister. His sister. Mary. She can’t help but shrug his hand off her shoulder and turn back to her drink, disappointed when she remembered it’s just been spilt.

“You made me spill my drink.” She can’t help but let all the bitterness she’s felt towards Andrey and his sister bleed into her voice.

“Maybe that was for the best sweetheart.” The kindness and pity in his voice makes her want to throw up. Or cry. Either would work to make her feel better. Probably. She’s not really sure that vomiting would make her feel better, but crying definitely would. But she’s not sure that Andrey would really appreciate it no matter how much it makes her feel better. “Sonya, just come back home with me.”

“No.”

Andrey sits in the stool next to her and flags down the bartender. He orders her a glass of water. When it comes, Sonya fights the urge to throw it back in his face. She knows that she’s being childish, but she’s so exhausted of being the well behaved one. She’s tired of being good. Instead of throwing it at him she takes tiny sips from the glass, attempting to keep any composure she has and not ruin what her cousins fiancé thinks of her.

She finishes the water and Andrey pays for all of her drinks. That also makes her want to cry or vomit. It reminds her too much of Mary. The kindness that the two siblings share that’s only shown in small ways. Paying for someone’s drinks without giving it a second thought. Buying someone’s groceries for them. Small, but completely sentimental gifts at random times if the year for no apparent reason. It had been one of Mary’s charm, one of the things Sonya had loved about her.

He supports her as she stumbles towards a cab, he helps her into the cab and sits with her, he gives the driver her address, he helps her out of the cab when they get to her apartment building, he helps her up the steps to the front door and up to her apartment. Every action filled with care and pity. At some point, completely against her will, the tears had started to fall down her cheeks. He said nothing and wiped them off with gentle fingers. This made her cry even harder, reminding her of the times where Mary had done the same. He never mentioned the tears, never complained about Sonya being an almost dead weight against his shoulder. He, somehow as he had no help from a crying Sonya, managed to find her keys and unlock her front door and help her get to bed. He last memory of the night was a whiskery kiss pressed to her forehead and murmured words that were too quiet for Sonya to hear before she promptly passed out on her bed.

 

Sonya woke to sunlight streaming through her window and a pounding headache. With what little energy she had, she rolled over and pressed her face into the pillow, savouring the quietness and the darkness that came with the fabric pressed against her face. That quietness was broken quickly by the sound of Sonya’s ringtone from her phi e on the bedside cabinet. With a slight groan and squinted eyes she checked the caller ID before answering. Natasha. With another groan she declined the call and put her phone on silent, not ready to deal with her cousins lecturing about drinking too much alone.

After trying to get back to sleep for another half hour with no such luck, Sonya managed to drag herself out of her bed. Pointedly ignored her phone sitting by her bed.

Andrey had left a note on her kitchen island, accompanied by a glass of water and two painkillers.

 _Found these in your bathroom cabinet. Thought you might appreciate them. Hope your head doesn’t feel too bad tomorrow._  
         -Andrey  
 _Ps: Natasha wants to invite you over for lunch tomorrow (I guess it’s today for you) so for your sake I hope you’ve woken up before midday._

Letting out a slight snort at his note, she took the pills he’d left her gagging slightly as she swallowed them.

In the shower she thinks of the night before. The last thing she can remember is ordering what might have been her fifth drink. She can’t remember Andrey coming to pick her up. Doesn’t know if she called him or he just managed to find her. She hadn’t made herself hard to find, going to the bar they usually go to as a group. So she assumes it’s the latter.

Her phone rings again when she’s getting dressed. It’s Natasha again. Against everything she want to do, all the little bitter part of her heart that tell her to not pick up, she answered the phone and was immediately met with Natasha’s frantic questions.

“Have you seen Andrey since last night? Is he still at yours? Sonya is he still with you?” Natasha’s voice is high pitched and frantic, speeding up quickly.

“Tasha, Tasha. Calm down. What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong is that Andrew hasn’t come home. What’s wrong is that you didn’t pick up your phone. You never answered my question. Is he at yours still?” With each sentence Natasha’s voice raised slightly in pitch.

“He’s not still here, he left me a note when he left though. Are you sure he’s definitely not in your apartment or with Mary.” Against her will she let her anxiety bleed into her voice and pretended to not notice the crack in her voice when she said Mary’s name.

“No he’s not her Sonya. Or why else why would I be calling you. What if somethings happened to him. Oh god what if he’s dead. Sonya what if he’s dead?” Even through the phone Sonya can hear Natasha’s tears.

“Natasha I’m coming over to yours, call Marya and Hélène they’ll know what to do. Okay, Natasha it’s going to be fine, I promise.”

With all traces of her hangover gone, Sonya quickly grabbed her keys, and purse and left her apartment building.

She left in such a rush she didn’t even notice the bloodstain on the brick outside of her building.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which tears are shed and tea is drunk

Upon arriving at Natasha and Andrey’s apartment, Sonya was met with a sight she never thought she’d see in her life. Natasha on the sofa with her head spinning towards the door as Sonya let herself into the room, disappointment evident on her face when it became obvious that it wasn’t Andrey entering the apartment. On either side of Natasha were Marya and Pierre, the pair each holding one of Natasha’s hands, Hélène was knelt before the trio on the floor with her hands rubbing circles into Natasha’s knees. They were the picture of comfort. Unceremoniously, So ya dropped to her knees beside Sonya and before she had the chance to say or do anything Natasha had flung her entire bodyweight onto Sonya, flinging her arms around Sonya’s neck, letting out a sob into her shoulder, muffled slightly by the fabric of her shirt and her skin. After pressing a kiss to Natasha’s head, she met the eyes of her godmother over the top of Natasha’s head, for the first time since Sonya had met Marya she saw fear in her eyes. The fear that was currently eating away at Sonya’s heart.

Natasha’s sobs became less tearful and more gasps as she tried to catch her breath, hiccuping slightly against the skin of Sonya’s neck. To see her cousin so helpless broke her heart and Sonya sent a silent prayer to whatever god was out there, if there even was a god out there, that Andrey would come home safe, that he’d be fine. To see her cousin like this, with tear tracks running down her face, her hair unbrushed and messy, and obviously wearing what she’d slept in made Sonya want to hurt whoever, whatever, made this happen. As the hiccups quieted down until they they were almost silent, she helped Natasha back up onto the sofa, Pierre moving slightly so she could take the place at Natasha’s side, to comfort her.

“Tasha, Natasha sweetheart, have you called the police yet?” Sonya tried to make her voice sound as calm and as soothing as possible when inside her heart was racing and she could feel her breathing speeding up.

“Not yet. Don’t you need to wait 24 hours before calling someone to make sure they’re truly missing?” Natasha sounded weak and timid, so unlike the Natasha that Sonya knew, if it was possible it broke her heart even further.

For the first time since Sonya had arrived Marya spoke up, “If you are concerned about a person whereabouts or safety then you can call the police immediately. The twenty four hours thing is just a myth.” her voice sounded almost robotic, as if she was reciting from a textbook. Hélène reached up and gave her hand a slight squeeze, looking the most sincere that Sonya had ever seen her. In return Marya gave her a small, tight lipped smile that did nothing to comfort Sonya and by the look on Hélène’s face, nothing to reassure her that she was alright.

Natasha all but sprung from her seat and whirled on her godmother. “Why didn’t you say that then?” The weakness in her voice now tinged slightly with annoyance, before she turned to make the phone call, stepping into the other room. Marya let her head tip backwards onto the back of the sofa and gave a small sigh.

The four of them, Marya, Hélène, Pierre and Sonya, sat waiting for Natasha to return from making the call. The tension in the air was thick enough to be able to cut with a knife, worry evident in all of their body language. Pierre’s hands were slightly shaking and Sonya wasn’t exactly sure if was from worry for his best friend or the need for a drink. Marya had stood up and started to straighten out already perfect things in the room, pillows, picture frames, mugs on the coffee, Sonya couldn’t help but notice she kept her back turned to the seated trio at all times. Hélène was sat, still on the floor, staring with blank eyes at where Marya had been sat previously. Sonya herself was trying to regulate her breathing, trying to reason with herself that everything was going to be okay. Because it was. It was going to be okay.

It was going to okay, and Natasha and Andrey could go back to be disgustingly cute and Sonya could go back to wallowing in her self pity in her own apartment, with the only human interaction she gets being when Natasha comes to bring her groceries or when Marya decides the apartment is too untidy for her liking. But a small part of her brain tells her that it’s not all going to be alright, that Andrey’s going to be dead or kidnapped and she’ll have been the last person to have seen him. Oh god, she’ll have been the last person to see him and she can’t even remember it.

Through their silence they can all hear Natasha in the next room in the phone, they can hear her frantic voice, the sound of her tears. It breaks Sonya’s heart into little shards of glass. She looks down at her hands, they’re a mess, with chipped polish from weeks ago, there’s a burn scar on the side of her thumb, the skin on her palm is cracked from her forgetting to use hand cream these past couple of weeks. She doesn’t want to think of Mary, not when Natasha’s in such a state, but she can’t help but wonder if anybody’s told her that Andrey’s missing. After all she’s Andrey’s sister. She’s about to voice this concern when Natasha reenters the room. Surprisingly she goes straight to Marya, whose hands are pressed firmly onto a side table, boring a hole into the wall with her gaze, and wraps her arms around her godmothers middle, resting her chin on the taller woman’s shoulder, before murmuring something into her ear. From where she is Sonya can’t hear what they’re saying but it must have been an apology as Marya turns herself around in Natasha’s embrace, hugs her back and buries her face in Natasha’s hair. Even from the smallest glimpse of Marya’s face, Sonya can see the tear tracks that mark her godmothers face. She also doesn’t miss the look that Hélène and Pierre share, showing that they obviously noticed them as well.

Natasha pulls away from her godmother and tells the group that a couple of police officers are going to come round and talk to them and Marya promptly announces that she’s going to make everyone some tea to calm their nerves. Again Sonya doesn’t miss the look that Hélène and Pierre share before Hélène stands up, places her hand onto his shoulder and mutters something into his ear and leaves the room following Marya.

She can’t help but wonder what’s going on between the three of them, she knows that Hélène and Pierre split up months ago before Hélène and Marya got together. Neither Hélène or Pierre ever gave the group a reason for their split and in return no one ever asked the pair as they still remained close friends. It had been a surprise to them all when a couple of weeks later, when they were all at Marya and Hélène’s apartment (the pair had already lived together, though everybody knew it had been a rocky relationship) when Hélène had unceremoniously dropped onto Marya’s lap, interrupting her conversation with Pierre, with two drinks and pressed a kiss to Marya’s lips. Even more surprisingly, Pierre had looked happy for the pair and had quickly included Hélène in their conversation. Still even now Sonya can’t entirely work out what’s happening between the trio, how they’re all so comfortable with each other this quickly after a break up. However, she is exceedingly happy for her godmother, who in Sonya’s living memory had never been in a relationship, though to be honest she’s also never met a person a private as Marya so she wouldn’t be entirely surprised if Marya’s had been in relationships and just not told her.

Natasha, interrupting Sonya’s train of thought, has curled up on the sofa, flinging her legs over Sonya’s lap and resting her head on Pierre’s knees. She can’t help but notice how young Natasha looks when she’s like this, with no makeup to cover up all the innocence in Natasha’s soul. Hélène and Marya come back into the room, carrying a tray of mugs of tea, all traces of tears wiped away from her godmothers face. Hand out the mugs before sitting on the floor at Sonya and Pierre’s feet, Marya rests her head on Hélène’s shoulder and the latter places a slight kiss to her head.

They all stay in the same position until there’s a knock on the front door. Natasha springs up from her seat, with some amount of difficulty (and almost kicking Hélène in the face), and almost sprinted to the door. As soon as she opened the door any hope that had built up on her face disappeared immediately as she saw who stood in the door way.

“Is this the apartment of Natasha Rostova?” Two police officers, one male and one female, stood in the doorway, matching looks of concern painted on their faces.

“Um. Yeah. Yeah it is. Come in please.” Natasha led the two officers into the apartment and offered them two seats that Pierre had brought from the dining table. “I’m gonna go get you a drink or something, excuse me a minute.”

“I’m just going to make sure she’s okay.” Pierre, soft and calming.

As soon as they’ve both left the room, Hélène turns to the two police officers and directs a smile towards to female one.

“Katya, it’s been a while, how’ve you been?” Her voice is warm, friendly with no hint of malice.

“I’ve been fine, your brother’s still bent on ruining my sanity,” The police officer, Katya, replied, her voice equally as warm and friendly. Sonya wonders how the pair know each other, if Hélène’s brother is dating this woman, “actually I think it’s Teddy whose driving him insane, leading to me getting little to no sleep every damn night. But you know what I’m happy for them.” Okay so she’s not the one dating Hélène’s brother.

“Well you know there’s always a spare bed at ours.” At this Marya nods her head slightly with a smile.

“It’s appreciated.”

Natasha and Pierre enter the room together each holding a cup of tea that they hand to the officers. Katya holds her hand out to shake Natasha’s.

“I’m Katya Dolokhova and this is my partner David White. We’re only hear to ask a few questions about your fiancé was it?” Natasha nods in reply and Sonya realises where she recognised the name Teddy. Fedya Dolokhov, a man she’d met only a couple of times, he’d been nice enough each time they’d met but she couldn’t call him her friend.

The pair go through asking the group questions. Did Andrey’s drink regularly? Did he often not come home in the morning? Are they sure he’s not visiting family? Where was he last night? Sonya’s heart stops as everyone turns to look at her, she explains what little she can remember from the night before and that she doesn’t actually remember seeing Andrey at all. She can see the look that the two officers give her, it’s a look of disappointment and slight suspicion, before they move back to Natasha and Pierre.

It’s as they’re leaving the apartment they get the call, she can only hear one side of the conversation, but it doesn’t sound good. She doesn’t miss the look the officers share, none of them do.

Hélène is the first to speak up.

“What is it? What’s happened?”

“A body’s been found in Central Park. A body matching your description of Andrey Bolkonsky.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we have some Sonmary fluff and more angst....

_The discussion had started with Mary’s head resting in Sonya’s shoulder, sunlight streaming through their bedroom window making Mary look like an angel (not that she didn’t look like an angel at any other time of day). It was a Saturday morning, neither of them had anything to be doing or anywhere to be. It was perfect, it was peaceful. Sonya would have been happy to stay like this forever, with Mary’s arms around her waist and her lips on her neck._

_“How do you think the worlds going to end?” The silence only broken by Mary’s softly spoken words. It wasn’t rare for the two to have conversations like this before getting up in the morning or even before going to sleep at night, it just meant they wouldn’t be getting up anytime soon._

_“I’m not sure, maybe a medical pandemic of some kind?” Sonya’s reply was equally as softly spoken, contrasting the nature of their conversation._

_“I was thinking more of nature taking over, or something like that. Imagine it though. Ruined buildings covered in ivy and flowers. Roads covered in moss, animals roaming free of any captivity, insects larger than tigers in desolate cities. Mother Nature taking control of what we’ve ruined. Beautifully destructive.” What Mary was describing sounded beautiful, sounded right, sounded peaceful._

_As Mary had carried on describing how she thought the world would end, Sonya took to admiring her girlfriend, the curl of her smile, beautiful and calming. Her hair spreading out across the pillow and Sonya’s shoulder, making a halo around her head, completing Sonya’s description of an angel. She was the most beautiful person Sonya had ever seen, ethereal even, in the back of her head it had occurred to Sonya that she could ask Mary to marry her._

_As if knowing she wasn’t truly paying attention to her words, Mary bit slightly into Sonya’s neck, laughing lightly at the way Sonya let out a small squeal._

_This is how Sonya wants the world to end, tangled in sheets on a Saturday morning with the most beautiful woman in the world pressing kisses down her body._

  
Sonya had always believed the world would end with a virus pandemic. Mary had always believed nature would reclaim what humans had taken from it. They were both wrong. The world ended with heartbreak, with a scream, with 15 spoken words.

“A body’s been found in Central Park. A body matching your description of Andrey Bolkonsky.”

That’s all it took for Sonya’s world to come crashing down around her, all it took for the world to end. She was frozen in place, she couldn’t say anything or move to comfort any of the other people in the room. Natasha’s cry was what unfroze her, a cry so full of sorrow and despair it made her heart split into two. She turned to look at the others. Natasha had dropped to her knees with her head in her hands, sobbing loudly. Pierre sat back down on the sofa, his eyes glazed over, staring at Katya but not seeing her, his hands shook even more. Hélène had tears in her eyes, from what Sonya knew Hélène and Andrey had never really gotten on well so it was strange to see her tears. And Marya, her hands were fluttering lightly by her side, a nervous habit Sonya had seen many a time on her godmother, but usually taken care of quickly as if Marya didn’t want anybody to know her weaknesses. It was the end of the world and they all were the victims.

“We’re going to stay with you until we find out more, make sure you’re all okay.” David this time, the first time Sonya had heard him speak, he sounded calming, a grounding presence to try and calm the storm in Sonya’s mind. It was his voice that finally made her move, snapped her out if her trance. She dropped down onto her knees unceremoniously and brought Natasha’s head to her chest, effectively cradling her, holding her, being as comforting as possible.

“Are you sure it’s him? Are you sure he’s dead?” Inquired Pierre quietly from his place on the sofa, voice shaking as he spoke.

“I’m sorry sir I can give you anymore details than we already have.”

“Are you sure it’s him? It might not be him. He might be alive. It can’t be him. It can’t be. He has to still be alive.” Pierre’s words were cut off by a sob of his own, deep and despairing.

“Sir, even if it wasn’t him, which is very unlikely, the chances of finding him alive after the first 48 hours drop dramatically.”

At this Hélène stepped forwards and placed her hand on David’s arm, “Officer, I dint think you’re really helping by saying that.” Before going to sit by Pierre and taking him in her arms, head doing him as he sobbed into her shoulder.

Throughout all of her worry for Natasha, Sonya had managed to forget Pierre. Almost every memory that Sonya had of Andrey (which weren’t just Sonya, Andrey and Natasha) also included Pierre, they’d been inseparable for as long as Sonya had known the pair. Pierre had helped Andrey plan his proposal to Natasha, Andrey had helped Pierre through his periods of depression, they were the perfect team. And now Andrey was dead.

And Sonya was the last person to see his alive.

Oh god. She was the last person to see him alive. She was the last person to see her ex girlfriends brother alive. She was the last person to see him alive and she can’t even remember it. If they even think it’s murder then she’ll be a suspect, oh god, she’ll be a murder suspect. She wants to shake herself, pinch her arms, she must be in a dream. A dream caused by the amount to alcohol she drank the night before. She’ll wake up and Andrey’s note will be in the kitchen counter along with the painkillers he’d leave out for her, he’d come and pick her up if she asked him to, if she didn’t want to face public transport alone, he’d laugh with her as she tried to distract herself from her heartache, he’d be alive and she’d be able to remember everything they’d done. It would be easy, pain free.

But no, they’ve found his body in a park. In a park he shouldn’t even need to walk through to get back to his and Natasha’s apartment from Sonya’s.

Maybe if she hadn’t have drunk as much as she had the night before, then her would t have needed to come pick her up. Maybe if she hadn’t left the house he wouldn’t have had to come and find her. Maybe if her and Mary hadn’t broken up then he wouldn’t be dead.

Mary.

Mary, who still didn’t know her brother was missing. Mary, who still didn’t know her brother was probable dead. Mary, who didn’t know what had happened. But she couldn’t call Mary, there was no way she was going to call Mary. She’d been explicitly told by the woman in question that she didn’t want to talk to Sonya again, that she shouldn’t call her again.

As much as she just didn’t want to talk to Mary, she needed to know, she needed to be told what was happening. Ignoring the hammering of her heart, Sonya stood up, fished her phone out of the pocket of her coat, tentatively found Mary’s contact and called it. Whilst the phone was ringing Sonya sent a prayer to every God that could exist that Mary hadn’t deleted or even blocked her number. On the seventh ring, Mary picked up.

Sonya had been wrong again about how the world was going to end, it wasn’t from a pandemic, nature, or even screams of sorrow. No, the world ended with a softly spoken voice tainted with anger. It ended in questioning words from a past lover. It ended in the first things Mary said to Sonya in months.

“This is Mary Bolkonskya, who is this and how can I help you?”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A phone call, some feelings and some tears.

13 words broke Sonya’s heart, it was a mystery even to her how she managed to keep herself from letting out a sob. She didn’t know what was worse; that Mary had deleted her number, or that she couldn’t remember her number. Probably the former, forgetting a number could be forgiven. 13 words that served as a shard of ice buried deep in Sonya’s heart, 13 words that caused a deep chasm to form in her heart, 13 words that caused Sonya a form of cataclysmic pain she’d never felt before.

“Mary—It's me—Sonya...” Sonya said into the phone, attempting to hide any form of pain that could make it’s way into her voice.

“Oh—I thought I told you not to call me again.” Mary’s voice went from questioning to cold in a matter of seconds.

“I know and I wouldn’t be calling if this wasn’t important. I promise.”

“And why should I believe your promises?”

“Mary please don’t do this. It’s important. And nothing to do with us.”

“Spit it out then, I’ve got to be somewhere in half about and I need to set off in a couple of minutes.” Sonya fought off the need to ask where she was going, not possessively but conversationally, just to hear her voice again.

“It’s Andrey.”

“What about Andrey? If it’s so important why aren’t you just telling me?”

“The police think they’ve found his body in Central Park. They think he’s dead Mary.” From the other end of the line Sonya can hear something smash, she thinks it’s a glass, probably one of the ones the pair of them bought together when they first moved in together, the only ones that Mary would drink out of when they were at home. She hears the smash, then a muffled curse and what sounds like a broken sob.

“What do you mean they’ve found his body—you make it sound like he’s gone missing or something.”

“He didn’t come home last night Mary, no one’s seen him since last night. We’re all at Natasha’s at the moment. If you want to come by? I mean you don’t have to but it might help. I don’t know. But the offers there if you want to take it.” She doesn’t know why she’s just invited Mary round, she knows that it’ll hurt, but that’s not what matters, it matters that Mary’s brother is missing and most likely dead.

“I might do if that’s okay with Natasha.” Mary said quietly.

“Okay, I’ll go tell her. Be careful getting here—Okay.” Sonya fights off the urge to end the opine call telling Mary that she loves her, how they used to end their phone calls. As she is about to hang up she hears Mary’s final words.

“Thank you Sonya.”

Sonya doesn’t get the chance to reply before Mary hangs up the phone.

The phone call had been almost disastrous, she knew that but for an unknown reason it made her feel slightly better about the whole thing. Maybe it’s cruel but just saying it out loud made it seem real, made the body left in the Park not a figment of Sonya’s imagination, a bad dream. It made it real and telling Mary, however cruel it made her, made the whole thing seem more reasonable, more manageable.

It wasn’t more manageable though, she knew that, though it was a beautiful illusion pretending it was. The only thing that had really changed was that Mary knew her brother is dead. Her brother is dead and his fiancée, Sonya’s cousin, is in tears on the floor and she doesn’t know what to do anymore. This isn’t something she can just ignore and hope it goes away soon, that’s not how death works. It sneaks up on you when you least expect it and pounces. It pounces and never fails to deliver a blow to its target.

Her hand trails through her hair, a nervous habit developed as a child, before the tips of her fingers are stopped by the start of her ponytail. It’s a habit she’s tried to get out of, like Marya and her nail biting, but for some reason it comforts her, the feel of fingers on her scalp.

They all sit in almost silence until Mary gets to the apartment, the only sound Natasha’s quiet cries, and occasionally Pierre’s cries. Hélène and Marya are sat with Pierre all curled up together and Sonya again can’t help but wonder what happened between those three, though to be honest she isn’t truly sure she wants to know the full story. She doesn’t particularly want to think of her godmother in that way.

Mary’s arrival is announced by three quiet knocks on Natasha’s front door. Marya uncurls herself from Hélène and Pierre to go and open the door, Sonya doesn’t want to do it, doesn’t want to see Mary. And Mary, oh Mary, she’s as beautiful as when Sonya last saw her. Her hair twisted around her head in its thick braid, her deep brown eyes as entrancing as they always used to be, her hands clasped in front of her, something Sonya knew Mary did when she was anxious. For the first time in months Mary’s appearance took the breath out of Sonya’s lungs.

Sonya watched in a daze as Katya introduced herself to Mary and vice versa, she watched as she led Mary to the arm chair in the corner, nobody had it in them to tell her that it was Andrey’s armchair. She watched as everything was explained to Mary, Andery not coming home last night, the body in the park, the fact her was picking Sonya up from the bar. At this Sonya felt Mary’s eyes on her, felt the judgement that is trained in her, felt her own guilt worming it’s way further into her heart. She could feel her breathing speeding up considerably and her fingertips starting to shake.

Against everything in her head that told her it would make her seem more guilty Sonya stood from her place on the floor and almost ran towards he bathroom. Her vision was blurred by the tears that welled up in her eyes against her will, and by the spinning of her head. She was out of control. She needed to regain control. Regain control of her breathing, regain control of the shakiness of her hands, regain control of he thoughts in her head. Her head is spinning as she braces her hands on either side of the sink, squeezing her eyes shut as her arms start to shake. Her breath hitches in her throat and every thought she’s been trying to fend of bombards her head at once.

_Mary hates her._

_Mary hates her because she was the last person to see her brother alive._

_Mary hates her because of everything else that happened._

_Natasha hates her because of Andrey._

_Pierre hates her because of Andrey._

_Marya hates her because of Andrey._

_Hélène hates her because of Andrey._

_Andrey is dead because of her._

_It’s all her fault._

_It’s her fault he’s dead._

_It’s her fault he was murdered._

_She was the last person to see him._

_She can’t even remember it._

_Oh god._

_What if she knows what happened to him?_

Her thoughts are broken by a hand on her shoulder, soft, comforting, through vision blurred by tears all Sonya can see is the bright red hair of her godmother. Her godmother, who obviously prefers Natasha in every way possible. Her godmother, who silently pulls Sonya’s head to her chest and lets her cry into her hoodie.

As her sobs are slowing down all Sonya can think is that she’s going to find out who did this to her family, to her, and she’s going to make them pay for it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyway things are about to get exciting!!


	5. Chapter 5

_There’s someone following Andrey._

_He can’t see them, they hide in the shadows, but they’re there. He can feel their presence behind him, following his every move. At the next intersection he crosses the road and doubles back on himself. They still follow him. It could be a coincidence, it’s a big city there could be tens of people going the same way as him. It doesn’t feel like it though. It feels like they’re waiting for him._

_The moon shines down in the city, but Andrey can’t see the stars that should be there. The moon is the only light in the sky. It unnerves him almost as much as the person following him does._

_He crosses the road again and catches a glimpse of the person following him, it almost makes him stop and talk to them, but the look in their eyes makes him carry on walking. Makes his breath speed up unnaturally. Makes his heart race and break at the same time. He’s never been scared if them in all the time they’ve known each other._

_The edges of buildings start to blur slightly and Andrey has to stop and regain his balance._

_He’s circling the block now, he can’t stop and wait for any of the lights to let him cross. They follow him as well, always just behind him. He’s outside of Central Park and the lights are letting him cross. So he runs._

_He runs across the road with all he has and runs straight into the park. It’s even darker inside the park. Trees shade him from the moonlight and buildings still tower above him. Leaves on the ground all merge together into one large stretch of brown and Andrey’s head is spinning, there’s something tugging in his mind. But all he can do is run._

_There’s footsteps behind him, easily keeping up with his pace, somehow getting closer and closer. They get closer until he can hear their strained breathing behind him._

_He turns his head and meets her eyes only a few inches from his face._

_His scream is stifled as Sonya covers his mouth with her hand and drives the knife in her hand forwards into his stomach._

_He falls backwards into a body of water._

  
Sonya wakes with a start, she can still see her own face looking back at her, feel the knife in her stomach, feel the water from the pond on her skin. But it’s not pond water, it’s her sweat. It was just a dream. It was only a dream. She couldn’t have killed Andrey, she was passed out in this very place. She squeezes her eyes together and presses her hands against her face, wiping away the tear that have started to fall.

It was only a dream.

It was only a dream that she’s been having for days now, ever since they found out Andrey was dead. Every time she closes her eyes she can see herself plunging a knife into his stomach. It’s not always a knife though, even though that’s how he died, sometimes she shoots him, sometimes she strangles him, sometimes she just pushes him into the pond and watches him struggle to regain balance. It doesn’t matter how many times she tells herself it can’t of been her she still can’t help but imagine herself killing him.

She turns her head to look at the clock on her bedside table, its flashing, red lights read 4:35am. It’s too early, but Sonya knows she’s not going to be able to sleep again today. She flips the lights on in her apartment and goes to make herself some coffee. If she can’t sleep she’s going to be useful at least.

For the past couple of days she hasn’t left the apartment, she’s spent her days reading up on murder cases, the probability that they’ll find the killer, how to deal with grieving families. She’s spoken to Natasha four times in four days, each time her cousin sounded even worse, more hopeless, empty. Marya called by yesterday, in an attempt to get Sonya to just leave to house, but she looked as bad as Sonya felt. She’s been meaning to call Pierre, find out how he’s doing. They’ve all been surrounding Natasha, making sure that she’s okay, but they forgot about Pierre, Andrey’s best friend.

Mary hasn’t called once and Sonya hasn’t called her either.

There’s a half empty bottle of whiskey on her kitchen surface, left there from the night before and Sonya fights all urges to bring the bottle up to her lips and start drinking. But, she reminds herself its half four in the morning and she hasn’t even had her coffee. She lets the whiskey back in the cupboard above the sink where she tends to hide things from people. There’s all sorts of things in that cupboard, photographs, letters, bottles, postcards, books.

When she finally brings herself to make some coffee she sits down in front of her laptop at her dining table, Andrey’s note from the other day still by her side. She checks over all of the newspapers for any news relating to the case. There’s something small on one of the back pages of a not very well known newspaper about an arrest, about an arrest for a murder that happened a couple of days ago. It might not be Andrey but it also might be. She prints the article out and carefully cuts it out.

She takes it to her spare room and pins it to the board she’s set up against its back wall. It makes her laugh slightly, every time she attaches something to it, that she’s set up a murder board in her back room. That she’s trying to solve a murder. It just seems absurd. She’s got a lot so far. Well as much as you can have when you don’t really get told much about what’s happening.

She read somewhere that generally when someone gets murdered that it’s someone they knew that killed them. That thought fills her heart with dread, it means there’s a chance she knows who killed Andrey. The faces that stare back at Sonya make her feel like she needs to vomit. This is her friends and family she’s out on there, even if she knows they won’t have killed him. She feels their eyes on her as she looks over what she already has. Can feel Natasha’s eyes following her round the room. Can feel the arch of Dolokhov’s eyebrow judging her every decision. Can feel Anatole’s smile taunting her as she can’t work it all out.

If anyone to walk into the room she’d look like a mad woman. A murder board attached to her wall and on the floor her attempts to work out what had happened to her that night. To try and remember what she’d done. That’s what she needed to work on, she needed to know exactly what happened with her.

Sonya sat for hours trying to remember, sunlight had started to stream through her blinds. In all honesty she hadn’t gotten particularly far, growing more annoyed by the hour at how little she’d managed to progress. She couldn’t even remember Andrey even being there. Maybe he never actually got to her. Maybe he never actually got to her and the person who took her home was the person who killed him.

Running out of the spare room into the kitchen Sonya grabbed the note he left her from the table. She read and reread the note, examining the handwriting. Though it occurred to her that she’d never actually seen any of Andrey’s handwriting so this could be his or it might not have been.

What if she’d let the killer into her house? What if they’d taken things from her? What if Andrey never came to pick her up?

As she sat down again in her spare room her thoughts kept going back to her dream. The knife. The panic in his eyes. The muffled scream. And she couldn’t help but feel like those things were a little too familiar to her for them to have just been from a dream.

**Author's Note:**

> !!!


End file.
